


We Are (Not) A James Bond Movie

by zeffyamethyst



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Multi, Wolverine is the worst, wait no Tony Stark is definitely the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:42:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeffyamethyst/pseuds/zeffyamethyst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky sleeps with Natasha first. The rest is history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Are (Not) A James Bond Movie

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I don't write fanfics as a rule, you will soon see why.  
> 2) If I were to write fanfics, this would not be the fandom. Again, you'll see why.  
> 3) But it's true though, Tony Stark is the worst.

Bucky sleeps with Natasha first.

It's kind of an accident. By which he means he flirts with Natasha because she's gorgeous and he's woken up with one hell of a libido, and he doesn't see much harm in it. It's just who he is. He thinks she's impervious to all of his lines, his smiles until one day, during a sparring session Natasha pins him belly down, his arm twisted up so tight he's afraid it would break, and leans down, her breath hot and her voice rough as she says, "so, are we going to fuck or what?"

Bucky is stunned, in part by Natasha's unusually frank mode of speech, but mostly by the hot flash of desire so sudden it leaves him breathless.

He's not the kind of man to disappoint a lady. So they do.

*****

Sleeping with Clint is definitely an accident.

They're drunk, and every part of Bucky aches from being shot at, punched, slammed into every kind of solid surface. Clint didn't fare much better. Their mission is, to re-use one of Clint's favourite sayings, a complete clusterfuck. Somehow, their target had known they were coming, which speaks of either incompetence on their side. Or worse. Maybe even now, someone's bleeding out their secrets all over SHIELD floor. Maybe Fury's standing over them, making sure this kind of thing doesn't happen again.

Christ, that's a morbid thought. Bucky keeps drinking.

"Hey," Clint says, voice steady despite the amount of beer bottles lining the floor around him.

"Hmm?" is all that Bucky can muster.

"You and Tasha?"

Those three words jerk Bucky out of the comfortable arms of violent inebriation, his stomach roiling like the time he and Steve jumped off a waterfall on a dare. The difference is that unlike the unforgiving surface of the pond, Clint can kill him. Somehow, in between all that running for his life and settling into this brave new world where his best friend spends time with a flying tin can of a man, Bucky forgot about the more than nascent rumour going around SHIELD. The one concerning Clint and Tasha, and Budapest.

"Uh," Bucky says.

Clint gives him the scariest dead-eyed look, and Bucky is sure he's going to die. Again. Steve is never going to forgive him. Bucky swallows hard.

"Huh," says Clint. Before Bucky can ask what the hell that means, he has a lap full of Hawkeye. There's a thumb digging into the angle of his jaw, cracked lips pressed against his own and the taste of blood in his mouth and Bucky...well, Bucky goes along with it.

******

It works for a while; Bucky sleeping with Tasha, sleeping with Clint, and the two of them probably doing it like rabbits when Bucky's not around.

It works until it doesn't.

******

It's all Wolverine's fault. There was a meeting. Or maybe a party. Or maybe a party that's actually a meeting. It's the Avengers, could've been all three.

So yes, Wolverine, who sits in on a game of poker Tony stark is winning. Tasha is the house, Bucky to her left and Clint to her right. About three turns in, Logan sniffs and looks at Bucky. "The bed even big enough?" he asks, the words warped by the cigar in his mouth but still all too intelligible.

Bucky chokes. "What?" Suddenly, Tony Stark looks half-interested and if that's not a bad sign, Bucky doesn't know what is.

"For the three of ya." And waves his cigar from Bucky to Clint and back.

Tasha goes still. Clint keeps playing. Bucky wishes a supervillain would attack the damn city already.

"Wouldn't know," Clint says, because of the three of them he's the one with the least amount of shame in his body. "We've never tried."

That's when Stark opens his big fat mouth and crows, "Bucky Barnes, you son of a bitch, you're hoarding all the kinky, flexible assassins for yourself?"

Bucky would deny it, if it weren't so damn true. His mother is rolling in her grave with shame, probably. "Shut up and play, Stark," he snaps.

"No, no, no, cat's out of the bag now." Stark leans forward, his eyes feverish bright with intrigue and rum. "C'mon, Barnes, spill."

It's not like he hasn't had his fair share of ribbing from the Howling Commandos, but the way Stark talks about it, like it's juicy Avengers gossip to share around the metaphorical superhero knitting circle, touches a nerve Bucky hadn't even know he had. "Fold," he says, throwing his cards on the table. "I'm out." 

He's not sulking, it's just, if he doesn't get away from Stark's smug face he's going to punch it. Unfortunately, for some godforsaken reason, Steve likes the guy, so lacking that option, Bucky beats a strategic retreat. "Night, ladies and gents," he says, avoiding their eyes.

******

How he ends up in bed with the both of them? That's easy.

After a week of the extreme sport known as Avoiding-Super-Secret-Spies, Bucky walks into his bedroom one night and find Tasha and Clint taking off their clothes.

"Um, what the hell?"

"Shut up and strip, Barnes," Clint says.

Tasha kicks off her shoes and adds, "We're testing the bed."

Well, what could Bucky say to that? He strips.


End file.
